Barry Smotter's Gang
by Seaquill
Summary: In this alternative-reality fantasy Harry Potter has actually killed Dumbledore and needs to hide from the law, he and his gang of nine. Voldemort is dead, but not to worry: another villain has taken his place.


**Barry Smotter's Gang**

Hermione opened the door and stepped into the living room. Though it had been a long night out and she felt worn down – it was rarely otherwise these days – she instantly recognized that smell. And sure enough, there was Harry, slumped at the foot of the couch obscured by a coffee table with only three legs. It hurt her to see him doing this. She had on a couple occasions in the past witnessed the fore sight: sometimes it was Ron with him. Ginny wasn't free from it either. She knew she too had succumbed to the odious abuse, that which lay before her, of torpor.

Meantime, Harry became aware of her presence with a start. "Oh," he seemed to groan. Hermione didn't want to injure him anymore than he already was, so she put on a cheerful smile despite herself.

"Hey, Harry. I've got good news." She came and sat down beside him. But before she could continue:

"Man, this book is great." Harry said, patting a tome next to him. "You know, the other day I got in a scrape like you wouldn't believe. But this baby will cure me of anything they throw at me." It was clear that he was trying his hardest to concentrate. He took another draught of the cup he had in his hand. There was a vaporizing cauldron on the floor in front of them – the source for the perfumed atmosphere.

"How was your day, Harry? Did Ron come in?"

Harry sadly nodded no then sniffed and looked better.

"Not yet? Well, maybe he will in the morning. Look, we found three wizards we've been talking to who said they would be willing to take the job – Harry? – the bodyguard duo."

At this, Harry made a grin then it suddenly fell. "Do they wear Prada?" he said, malice in his face.

"No. Balenciaga, …at least when they were meeting with us."

Harry hated Prada whereas he had always had a place in his heart for Balenciaga. So, as it were, he softened when he asked, "Dior?"

"Not that I could tell. But Harry, really, I should think we would need to be more open in the future with Dior."

"No Diors." Harrys shot back.

Hermione could see that this was not the time to push the issue. She wasn't arguing about Prada, but she couldn't understand what Harry could have against Dior. It would be different if Harry were sober; for now, however, she would indulge him.

"Alright. We'll only do what you want. We'll make sure to get those helping hands." (The main thing she wanted was to get Harry stable.) "What do you think: could we take on all three?"

"Yeah. Then we won't need to worry about … about … nothing." he finished off the rest of his bever.

"Yeah. Maybe, one day, we won't need to hide anymore." Hermione could measure the toll the drink was taking from Harry. Even his very life. "Listen to me." She was running her hand fore and aft of Harry's short hair – he got tired of his ungroomable hair so he just incinerated the roots and would transfigure his pate, imitating a buzz cut. "I know it's hard living like this with the Prophet haranguing us daily. Oh, Harry, you suffered the longest. And the Ministry at our backs so that we look behind us after we turn each corner."

Here Harry began to fall to pieces. All the years of running away every since that fateful night when he killed Albus Dumbledore and claimed the Elder wand for himself affected Harry like a cold, black cloud hanging over him. He bore his face into Hermione's shoulder, trembling violently. Yet he could hardly cry.

Hermione couldn't desist and felt she must needs comfort him. It is much to say that they were home alone. "But we're all in this together now. We know that the Ministry are the bad guys. Black's army will never fail you. We'll always be by your side." Hermione cradled his head for a while staring at a single spot in space, thinking, until he started to calm down. "Harry, you know I love you. And I have your best intentions in mind."

Harry took his head from out her arm socket. "I love you too." he said, "I always thought we could be together, but I guess I got carried away with … other things." Hermione smiled and Harry gazed at her dreamily.

Then she sighed. "You don't need this." she said, suddenly picking up the cauldron and moving hurriedly away.

"No!" Harry cried. "Peace Potion! Peace Potion! I need Peace Potion!" Harry blubbered all over himself.

Hermione stopped at the base of the stairs utterly distraught. See looked over to the doorway. Harry had crawled up to it. "I need it. I need it for my … metabolism!"

"I'm sorry." Hermione said, full of emotion. She ran up the staircase, tears mingled with mascara streaming down her face.


End file.
